“All of the above but kissing another man gets the fucking gold!” He’s shaking with anger.
“You had your hand on another woman’s arse!”
“I know!” He glares at me, and I glare right back.
“Why? Getting bored of keeping it for just one woman?” I screech, and then tense, looking around to see who has heard my little outburst. I’m relieved to see our friends have all escaped the scene.
He narrows his dark green eyes on me, his lips forming a straight line. “You fucking asked for it, woman!”
“Me? How?”
“You left me! You promised you would never leave me!”
We stand opposite each other, staring each other down like a pair of circling wolves, neither one of us backing down.
“You shouldn’t have taken it upon yourself to decide my future,” I say more calmly and carry on to the car, staggering slightly toward the curb. I’ve no idea where it is parked, but I’ve no doubt some directions will be barked at me soon enough.
“You’re a fucking pain in the arse,” he snaps. “And I was thinking about our future.” He scoops me up from behind and carries me in his arms.
“Jesse, put me down,” I complain weakly. My meager attempt to wriggle free is pathetic.
“I’m not putting you down, lady.”
I give in. My body is weak, my mind even weaker and my throat sore and raspy from too much shouting. I let him carry me to the car and deposit me in the passenger seat, not even kicking up a stink when he leans over to buckle me in. He mumbles incoherently as he pulls the hem of my dress down and then slams the door. I’m aware of him getting in the car, and I’m vaguely aware of the pleasant sounds of Ed Sheeran, but then mental exhaustion overwhelms me and my forehead hits the passenger window. I stare blankly at the bright lights of London by night, flashing past the window.
“Oh dear!” I hear Clive’s disapproving tone as I come round, bobbing up and down in time to Jesse’s strides. “Should I get the elevator for you, Mr. Ward?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Jesse’s voice vibrates through me. “Fucking dress is ridiculous,” he mumbles as he steps into the elevator.
I come to in his arms and writhe to free myself. “I can walk,” I snap.
He scoffs and lowers me to my feet, but only because there’s nowhere for me to escape and there are no cars that I can walk in front of. The elevator door opens, and I’m the first to exit while fishing around in my clutch for my keys. I find them remarkably quickly, considering my disorientated hands, but getting one in the lock is another matter entirely. I close one eye to try and focus as I slowly guide the key to the lock, hearing him grumbling under his breath behind me, but I ignore him and carry on trying to insert the key. He must get fed up of waiting because there is suddenly a hand wrapped around my wrist, holding it steady and guiding it to the lock successfully.
The door opens. I kick my shoes off and trample through the colossal open space, taking the stairs carefully. When I reach the top, I don’t veer left to the master suite, instead taking a right and letting myself into my favorite spare room. I collapse in the bed fully dressed and without taking off my makeup, a clear indication of thorough exhaustion and drunkenness. I don’t let it concern me for long, though. My eyes close of their own accord, and I feel myself slipping into a drunken slumber.
“Let’s get rid of that.”
I feel my dress being peeled from my body. I’m half asleep; I know I’m still slightly drunk and my eyes are semistuck together with mascara. “Are you going to cut it to pieces?” I mumble irritably.
“No,” he says calmly, his strong, familiar arms wrapping around me and lifting me from the bed. “I might not be talking to you, lady,” he whispers, “but I want to be not talking to you in our bed.”
My arms automatically reach up and around him to hold on, and my face buries in his neck. I might be a little drunk and massively pissed off, but I recognize my favorite place. He lowers me to the bed and a few moments later, he’s laying the full length of my back and pulling me into his chest.
“Ava?” he whispers in my ear.
“Hmmm?”
“You make me crazy, lady.”
“Crazy in love?” I mumble sleepily.
I feel him squeeze me closer. “That too.”
“I love you.”
What is that? I splutter and rip my mascara-clogged eyes open.
“Drink,” he commands softly.
I groan and roll over into my pillow. “Leave me alone,” I whine, hearing him chuckle. My head is banging. I’ve not even lifted it off the pillow and it already feels like Black Sabbath are having their practice session in my skull.